


Extra Legs to Stand On

by Nyxelestia



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (2012), The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Breakfast, Captain Stacy Lives, Captain Stacy POV, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Procedures, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, Whump, bullet wounds, old fic, outsider pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:30:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxelestia/pseuds/Nyxelestia
Summary: TASM AU where Captain Stacy never died. Instead of asking for promises, he and Gwen took Peter back to their home to take care of all the wounds he sustained in the fight against Doctor Connors.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this fic six years ago for [this](https://spiderkink.livejournal.com/1612.html?thread=140108#t140108) TASM prompt:
>
>> Captain Stacey was never stabbed/ didn't die on the rooftop. In fact, he was the one that caught Peter right as he was about to go over the side of the building.  
>   
> Can I get a slight AU where instead of asking for promises, Cap Stacey carries an injured Peter out of Oscorp on the down low and takes him home where he and Gwen take care of his wounds? (maybe Gwen's mom and brother's are out of town or something)  
>   
> Feel free to play up the H/C and Peter's injuries, like the bullet in his leg and the nitrogen burns he was bound to have, plus the countless cuts and bruises from Lizard's claws and being thrown around. (I have no idea how he was still vertical during that scene with the eggs)  
>   
> Bonus points if:  
> \+ Gwen has to hold/distract Peter while her dad sets one of his bones/digs the bullet out of his thigh.  
> \+ Its in Captain Stacey's point of view.  
> \+ After its all said and done, he's gained enough respect/parental-y feelings for Peter to let him continue to see Gwen

George Stacy didn't even think when he saved Spider-Man's life.

It was an automatic reaction to grab the boy when he was about to fall off the roof. He heard something pop — from him, or the kid? — but kept a tight grasp on Peter's hand.

Peter gasped as George dragged him over the edge of the roof and back to safety. His chest heaved with exertion and something that might be pain, based on the way he clutched his shoulder as he peered over the edge. He shuddered as he took in the height at which he nearly fell.

George also stared a little blankly down, before he and Peter both jerked at the sound of movement coming from a few feet away.

“Peter?” Doctor Connors asked in a daze, staring at himself and all around them in shock.

The kid didn’t respond, at first. He just watched the man — Lizard? — warily from his safe distance...which was right by George.

But once Connors was looking at him directly, Peter nodded firmly, just once. George was caught between wondering what the hell that was about and being glad he didn’t know.

“Doctor Connors,” George said wearily, feeling his old age starting to catch up with him. “You’re under arrest-”

“Of course, of course,” the naked man said, sounding equally tired as he shut his eyes. “I...I’ll come quietly.”

“And the Lizard?” George asked.

“...hopefully won’t be making an appearance ever again,” the man said, opening his eyes once more.

“It shouldn’t,” Peter said, slowly pushing himself upright. “Gwen ran the antidote.”

“Then it probably won’t,” Connors admitted.

George spared another moment to take in the sheer insanity of the situation, then latched onto something he knew how to do.

“You have the right to remain silent,” he started out calmly as Peter started to stand up. But before he could finish, Peter cried out in pain and collapsed, landing on all fours.

“Peter!” Connors said, practically leaping forward to crouch beside Peter, who was using one arm — the one he was clutching at just moments before — to wrap around his midsection.

“You really did a number on me, Doc,” Peter said shakily. But then he grabbed at the shoulder that George just dislocated.

Connors just stared almost uncomprehendingly at that, so George pushed him aside to kneel in front of Peter.

Gently pushing Peter’s good shoulder up to make him lean back a little, George hissed as he took in all the damage.

“Jesus, kid, how are you still standing?”

“...I’m not?” he pointed out. He shifted his weight back onto his haunches, which caused him to groan in pain and grab at his thigh with his free hand.

Oh, god, the gunshot. The kid took down a giant lizard with a bullet wound.

Taking in the bullet wound, the shoulder, the weird way the kid was holding his stomach and his shallow breaths and all the blood soaking through the unitard, George said, “We need to get you to a hospital.”

“No!”

George jerked back at the vehemence in his voice, staring as Peter seemed to be trying to back away from him, while still keeping a careful distance from Connors.

“Kid, have you seen yourself?” George asked incredulously.

“No hospitals,” Peter said. “I can take care of this.”

“You’ll take care of a bullet wound?”

“I can figure something out, or Gwen-”

“Gwen?” George asked. All his old anger at Peter Parker and Spider-Man both resurfaced at the mention of his daughter. “How the hell did you involve her in this, anyway?”

“She’s been — when I got hurt, she...she helped me.”

George pursed his lips. He wanted to say more, but the kid was still backing away in a nearly animalistic panic, grabbing his mask and yanking it on. George remembered how Gwen always insisted on professional medical care over taking care of something at home, anywhere possible. Her low opinion of people who disdained doctors was second only to her opinion of the insurance industry which made it so difficult for so many people to seek the professional care they needed.

It seemed just as Peter got his mask on, a spotlight from one of the news helicopters landed on them, nearly blinding them with the bright light.

George wondered if they timed it that way on purpose.

He carefully took a readied stance, as much for show as to actually be ready to pounce on either one of them if necessary.

“You’re not going to make it out of here on your own,” George called out to Peter, as he edged over to Connors.

“I’m not letting myself get arrested, either,” Peter said, backing away from both men.

Even with the mask on, the fear was evident in every tight line of his battered and broken body, and he still looked ready to try and run.

George knew that look all too well.

With a frustrated grunt, he wrapped Connors arms around his back and handcuffed him, and hoped to god he looked like he was just mirandizing the bastard as he asked, “Is there anywhere in here that Peter can hide for a bit? Or escape through?”

“...the elevators,” Connors said, hunching over himself and away from all the bright lights. Right, the guy was still naked. “They will have been disabled. If he can get down an elevator shaft somehow, down to the lowest levels, from there he should be able to get to the parking structure a block away. There's a tunnel connecting this building to that structure.”

“You get all that, kid?” George called out as he shielded Connors from the lights and cameras with his own body.

“Yeah...thanks,” Peter said. And he had the smarts to not nod or make any other visible gesture, and instead just turned and quickly disappeared down one of the many holes his fight with Connors — the lizard — put in the roof.

George looked up to see one of his police choppers approaching, and a medical one. Making a few gestures to them, the news copter thankfully moved out of the way as medical one came right over them, and someone dropped down a blanket to cover Connors with.

“Captain,” Connors asked hesitantly as the police chopper slowly and carefully replaced the other two right over them, trying to stabilize somewhat. George almost didn’t hear him.

“Yeah?” he responded, looking up at their rides before looking back down at Connors.

“Please — take care of him,” he said. “He doesn’t deserve to rot in a jail cell...or end up strapped to a laboratory table. You can't let him turn into some Defense Department science experiment.”

“...we’ll see," George answered — mostly for caution, because he didn't think Peter deserved any of that, either. Well, maybe some jail time — but not prison, and _definitely_ not being dragged into some lab to be tortured for science.

“And — you must get someone to my office and lab areas soon,” Connors said as a cable ladder was slowly lowered from the chopper to near their position. “Before OsCo- before someone else gets to it first. Else this might happen again, with far more...disastrous consequences. Gwen will know where to look.”

It rankled George to hear this man — this terrorist — mention his daughter so casually. He broke his heart to remember how much she looked up to him, and to realize that this man wrote the letter that would've gotten Gwen into the college of her dreams. But apparently Connors and the Lizard weren’t mutually inclusive, and he appeared to be trying to help, so he just snapped, “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

Soon enough, they were on board his helicopter, and Connors was being swarmed by officers and restraints as one of his lieutenants said, “Glad to see you’re okay, chief.”

“Find a way to get me back down to the ground by the OsCorp base as soon as possible, then take him down to the main station. Highest restraints we can manage, suicide watch if needs be, and get Homeland Security down here ASAP,” he ordered. “And apart from them or from me, don’t let anyone near him...”

He glanced at Connors, and prayed he was reading the situation correctly when he added, “Especially not anyone from OsCorps.”

Judging by the look of relief on the doctor’s face, he got that one right.

George tried not to dwell on it, and instead focused on how to get back to his people, and his daughter.

The moment he touched down on the ground, he was nearly tackled to the ground by a raging ball of worried hugs and bright blonde hair that cried out, “Dad!” as he staggered back a few steps.

“I’m all right, Gwen,” he said outloud, returning the embrace and leaning in, letting her bury her face in his shoulder as he whispered in her ear, “And with some help, he’ll be fine, too.”

She nodded and stepped back, already wiping her face and looking him over, brow wrinkling in worry as she took in the cuts and bruises.

“I’m fine, promise,” George said. “But we need to get this sorted out immediately. Do you know where Doctor Connors’ lab is, and where he worked or operated in this building?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, face already solidifying into a stoic expression that made George proud and despair at the same time.

“Good. I’m going to be sending in some detectives and officers to sort this out. Can you tell them where to look?”

He knew he was using his ‘child witness’ voice, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t care as she said, “Of course. I used to shadow him — I knew everything about...his...work...”

She trailed off as she looked around her and realized the folly of her statement, but George grabbed her shoulders as she started to look a little lost and said, “That’s my girl.”

~*~

Gwen gave three different ground officers, two detectives, and a forensic team directions to Dr. Connors’ office and work areas, then devoted her attentions to helping direct all the people exiting the building on where to go and how to get help if they needed any.

She’d been going at this for almost an hour when her dad reappeared at her side, finishing calling out some orders into his radio before handing it off to another officer.

“My people have got this under control for a few hours,” he said as he held out his arm for her to wrap her own around. “You and I are going to...take care of some stuff, go home, and get some rest.”

She nodded and turned to where the police cars were all grouped together, but he led her past them to where a bunch of civilian cars were parked — including his.

“Junior officers,” her dad answered at her confused look. “I told someone to bring my car here, so I can get home, rest up, and get back as fast as possible." He took a deep breath, and Gwen already knew he was mentally planning out his next twenty-four hours. "You have your phone on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Call your mother for me,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat. “Ask her where she is and how she and the boys are. Hopefully, she's still out in Queens with your grandmother.”

Gwen dialed after slipping into the passenger seat and buckled in as they started to slowly move through the morass of people and vehicles extending three whole blocks around the building entrance.

“Mom?” she said when someone answered.

“GWEN!”

It took the entire fifteen minutes of escaping the three-block mess for Gwen to calm her mom down and assure her she and Dad were both fine, yes, that was Doctor Connors, no, they weren’t hurt — repeat ad nauseum. From the driver’s seat, her father was smiling in tired fondness the entire time.

Eventually, Gwen was able to give the phone to her dad, and he said, “We’re fine, honey. Listen, where are you? At — okay, no, good, stay there. No, our place is fine for now but the city is a mess and it’s the middle of the night, you three stay there until tomorrow. Gwen and I are going to be at the station clearing this up.”

Gwen’s eyebrows rose at the blatant lie, but remembering what he’d said about Peter, she supposed she knew why he said it.

“No, look — she told you, we’re fine. We’re going to clear some things up, maybe go home to rest for a few hours, and then we’ll be needed back either at the station or on the- yes, probably both of us. Gwen was...look, you’ll hear about it on the news- I’m sorry, I can’t say right now. We still don’t know what’s going on or what happened.”

She smiled as she heard some more frantic yelling from her mother, and leaned back as she listened to the soft sound of her mom’s tinny voice from her phone’s speaker. Dad winced every now and then but otherwise silently bore through the yelling as they finally got out the mess, and turned...not towards home. Or the station.

Where were they going?

“Look, I know,” he said. “But please — just stay there, let your mom take care of you and the boys. Once the mess is cleaned up a bit and Gwen and I are done with the police matters, we’ll come get you, okay?”

Some more logistical talk, then him handing the phone back to Gwen. She promised her mom, “I’m safe, I’m fine, I love you,” then hung up.

And realized that they seemed to be doubling back towards the building.

“Where are we going?”

“To pick up your boyfriend.”

“How is he?”

“...it’s not pretty.”

“I’m a biomedical research student, dad, I can handle not pretty.”

“There’s a big difference between ‘not pretty’ on a patient you don’t know or a picture and ‘not pretty’ on someone you care about,” he said. “Your mom is staying at your grandma’s and the boys are with her. And apparently, Spider-Man’s biggest fear is the hospital.”

“Does he need a hospital?”

“Yes, but he won’t go,” he said. “The kid was kind of out of it when he mentioned this, but — you’ve been taking care of him when he’s hurt?”

“Ye-e-e-es...” she said slowly, trying to decipher something in his increasingly blank facial expression.

“With what?” he asked, slowly shifting into his planning voice, strategizing something. “What...what kind of medical supplies? If we can’t take him to a hospital and we don’t know who else knows...”

Her stomach tightened as the severity of his condition started to become clearer to her, but she said, “I’ve been using our disaster-readiness kit...but I restock it afterwards, every time, and I've added a few extras over the last couple weeks.”

He smiled grimly but didn’t respond, instead focusing on the road as they took a few convoluted turns and ended up at a parking structure near the OsCorps tower. Gwen didn’t know much about it, since she never drove, but she knew it was the one nearly everyone at OsCorps who _did_ drive used.

Dad drove right up in front of an alley, parked, and turned to her with a serious expression on her face.

“Gwen, I want you to know that I have never been more proud of you than tonight. You’ve been very strong and very brave in the face of one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen plague this city.”

She could feel a lump grow in her throat and was about to try and say something when he said, “But I’m going to need you to be brave and strong for a little while longer. Can you do that?”

When she nodded, and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead before clambering out of the car, and going into the building through the main entrance.

For ten minutes, she sat there, clutching her phone and forcibly restraining herself from checking online for a fuller picture of what’s going on and what happened in the rest of the city.

Then the alley-side door that her dad disappeared into opened, and she nearly screamed when he came out carrying a limp Spider-Man in his arms.

For a moment she gaped, taking in the sight of her grim father walking slowly forward, being terrifyingly careful with her masked boyfriend. She took in all the holes and tears in the suit and the dried and drying blood all over, before practically leaping out of her seat to open the back door. “How...?”

“He’ll be fine,” he said as he approached.

“‘M fine...” Peter mumbled, and god at least he was alive and conscious and somewhat lucid and aware and could a word and a half be called coherence?

_Can it, Stacy,_ she thought to herself, and entered the backseat backwards to guide Peter in with her father’s help. When he was sprawled over the backseat and had his head in her lap, George carefully shut the door, took the wheel again, and took off.

“Peter,” she murmured a little helplessly as she probed a gash with gentle fingers, one that started near the middle of his chest and curled up around his shoulders.

“Would you...b’lieve me if’I said...it’s worse than...i’ looks?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said.

“It’s the other way around,” her father called out dryly from the front seat. “He’s got at least one fractured rib, a dislocated shoulder, and a bullet wound on top of everything else.”

“N-not cool, Captain,” Peter mumbled, head listing to the side.

“And being injured is?” Gwen asked.

Peter didn’t respond, and she pulled the mask off to see he had fallen asleep.

“Any head wounds?” she asked her dad. Not that it would matter — she was a science student, she knew keeping concussed people awake was a horrible myth. She was letting him sleep no matter what.

But thankfully, her father said, “Nothing serious that I could see. But I’m not exactly a trained medic, and police field medical training only goes so far.”

He paused.

“And apparently a hospital still isn’t an option.”

“They wouldn’t be able to help him, anyway,” she said. “He’s got an advanced healing system, his muscle and organ structures are different from a normal human, and with his altered metabolism any medication they give him won’t...work...”

She trailed off as she realized everything she just implied, and she slowly looked up to see her dad’s worried and fearful — yet oddly, slightly amused — eyes in the rearview mirror.

“You and I are going to have a long, long talk about all this when he’s taken care of.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she said. She looked back down at Peter’s sleeping face, with all the dried trail of blood flaking off the side, and tried not to think of what lay ahead of them all.

~*~

It took a fair bit of logistical maneuvering to get Peter up to their apartment without anyone seeing, but they — hopefully — managed it.

Once in their home, Gwen lay a bunch of beach towels down on the couch. George carefully laid the trembling boy down on top of those, moving his limbs around a bit as Gwen grabbed whatever medical supplies she had from her room. He pulled off his flak jacket, wincing as he took in the tears in the material — but better it than him.

Then he turned his attention to Parker.

He peeled off the suit with helpful nonresistance from the half-conscious kid, and for a moment just stared at his bare chest.

All the gashes, blood, and bruising looked even worse in their bright living room lights. And that was just the wounds that were recent. A few scarred gashes and a couple of bruises were clearly much older, almost a third of the wounds on his body. Combined with the rib, the shoulder, and the leg — which still had scraps of his signature web-thing clinging to the wound — George desperately wanted to go back on his word and take this kid to the hospital, anyway, non-human biology be damned.

Forget standing — how was this kid even _alive_?

He heard a gasp from behind him and turned to see Gwen looking ready to cry again as she took in the damage.

But she was a Stacy, so a few deep breaths later, she moved forward, determination on her face as she set a mesh-and-plastic box down on the coffee table. She pursed her lips as she eyed a particularly bloody spot where two new gashes crossed over an old one, before grabbing a bottle of prescription painkillers from George’s last fractured wrist and extracting a mini-bottle of water from the box.

George’s eyes widened she gave him a double dose, before remembering everything that was wrong with the kid. And she'd something about his metabolism?

She was silent as she set them both aside and disappeared into the kitchen.

Peter stared after her through slitted eyes.

“She worries a lot,” Peter mumbled.

“She always has,” George said, carefully getting the rest of the costume off. At least he was wearing underwear — even if it was ridiculously tight briefs that would’ve been embarrassing any other time but tonight made their jobs just a little bit easier.

As he started folding up the costume, he said, “She used to try and stop me from going to work in the mornings when she was a little kid. She finally stopped, only for her brothers to start doing the same thing. She never helped me or her mother stop them.”

Peter smiled at that, expression weak. Then he shut his eyes again, and knowing what the kid was up for, George let him.

He sat on the very edge of the couch, his knee connecting to the kid’s as his hand hovered over the bullet wound just up the leg.

“I was wrong about you, kid,” he said quietly, taking in the horrifying timeline of abuse on the kid’s body. “So, so wrong. About all of this. And I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he mumbled, opening his eyes a little. “You’re a c-cop. I’m...a guy in a unitard.”

“A kid,” George said. “One who’s been through hell and back, apparently more than once. Way more than anyone should have to go through.”

“I’m not a-”

“Yes you are,” George said. “You are way too young for this. For any of this.”

“...well, somebody has to,” Peter said.

“Why you?”

“Why not?”

“Because-”

“M’a kid?” he asked humorlessly. “Yeah, well...you heard about my uncle?”

George slowly nodded. “Shot in the chest. Gwen told me, and I read the police report after you showed up at the station. You were at the scene, tried to stop the bleeding...” He paused as a few things came together. “When you- when Spider-Man started out, it was all against guys matching the same general description. The one you gave for your uncle’s killer.”

Peter shut his eyes in a pain that had little to do with his battered body.

“Uncle Ben was only out there in the first p-place because of me. We had a fight and I left and he was out looking for me. The guy that shot him...just a few minutes before that, we were in a convenience s-store. I was a few cents short for a drink I wanted and the cashier was being s-such an asshole about it that when the guy took all the money from the register, I practically laughed. He even gave me my drink, g-grabbed it off the counter and threw it at me when the cashier was looking the other way. The cashier asked me to help stop the guy and I didn’t. My uncle did, though, just half a block away. It t-turned out, that guy had a g-gun.”

The boy was shaking in both shock and grief. His eyes were slightly glassed over, as if he were seeing his dead uncle in front of him instead of George's very-much-alive self. "Five minutes before he k-killed my uncle, I was sharing a laugh with him."

Gwen appeared, then, setting down a small bucket of hot water on the coffee table, as well as a bundle of hand-towels and a bottle of antiseptic.

“So all this really was just a vendetta?” George asked neutrally as he took a towel and dipped it in the water.

“Dad!” Gwen chided. "Do you have to interrogate him _now_?"

George sighed. "Sorry, Gwen."

Nodding, she took the towel from George and added some of the antiseptic to it. While George did the same with another towel, she started dabbing at the largest wound across his upper chest.

Even under Gwen’s gentle touch, the boy hissed and jerked. The antiseptic must be stinging horrifically in that large a wound.

It only got worse when George started to do mimic her with another gash cutting over his stomach.

Peter gripped the couch cushions and answered George's question. “It started out as that, but it’s not anymore.”

“Do you guys really have to do this now?” Gwen asked, taking away the towel to peer closely at one of the older wounds. “Uh-oh...I think this one got a little infected. Though at least it’s clearing up, now?”

“I guess that’s what I get for swimming through the sewers with an open wound,” Peter said with dark humor.

“You did what?!” George cried out, hand freezing mid-wipe as he tried to wrap his head around that.

“He was tracking down the Lizard on his own for a bit, before,” Gwen said, returning her attentions to the more recent wounds. “Now, stop talking for a minute and keep your breaths even so I can see this clearly!”

Amazingly, Peter subsided, and that was when George remembered all the kid’s other problems.

“I may not be sorry for hunting you down,” George said. “But I am sorry for you getting hurt like this.”

“It’ll be...okay...soon,” Peter said, voice getting tighter through shallow breaths. Right, broken rib, and that shoulder, and good god what were they going to do with that bullet wound? They’d have to give him more of the vicodin or whatever it was George’s doctor had given him two months ago just to get through the night.

And he got the sinking feeling that even that wouldn’t help.

"Everything heals eventually," Peter said, with a smile that tried and failed to be encouraging. "So it doesn't matter if I get hurt."

There was so much wrong with that statement, George didn't even know where to begin — so he didn't bother trying. Instead, he continued dabbing at the gash he was working on, while scanning the boy's body for his other wounds.

Looking over the kid’s leg again, he blanched as he realized something.

“There’s no exit wound.”

“What?” Gwen asked, looking over, only to go very still as George pointed out the leg between his and her knees.

“No exit wound,” George said. “That means the bullet is still in there, which means...”

“We’re going to have to dig it out,” she said with a note of despair.

“Give me that,” George said, pointing to the antiseptic bottle. She did, and George got a new towel wet with warm water, soaked it with the rubbing alcohol, then leaned all his weight down on Peter’s hip as he said, “Brace yourself kid.”

Peter nodded weakly, and tugging off the last bits of web-thing from the wound — which started bleeding immediately when he did. Holding his breath, George gently brought the washcloth down on the hole in the kid’s flesh.

The boy jerked and nearly threw George off him. He probably would have if Gwen handn’t also leaned her weight on top of him, and if Peter didn’t appear to be trying to restrain himself. Both Stacys winced at his mangled shout of pain that broke off into labored gasps as George pressed down on the leg and wiped away at it a bit. Thank god this apartment was practically sound-proofed.

“Dad...?” Gwen said, seeming to take in the expression on his face.

“He’s out of the suit,” George said. “If we take him to a hospital...”

“No!” Peter protested weakly, trying to jerk away half-heartedly, his eyes going wide with something close to terror. He looked like he was ready to try and run away again, injuries be damned. George wondered how far he'd get if he did.

“Dad, I want to get him professional help as much as you do, if not more,” Gwen said, sounding on the verge of tears. “But the only way they’d be able to help him any more than what we’re doing for him now is if we told them he’s Spider-Man, which is Not. An. Option. If we didn’t, they’d treat him like he was a normal human, and what they would do wouldn’t be much more effective than what we’re doing here. But it would be dangerous, especially when they start to notice he isn’t human — and believe, they will, if they work on him.”

George wasn’t going to argue with that kind of protective determination.

It seems he taught his daughter just a little too well.

“Then let’s focus on the more superficial wounds,” George said, reaching for a bandage to wrap the towel tightly around the kid’s leg. “Give the painkillers more time to fully kick in.”

Gwen bit her lip and shook her head. “I told you, he heals fast. That’s great for the wound itself, but if the bullet is there, we have to get it out before his leg tries to heal around it. If that happens then it’ll be stuck inside him, and to get it out _then_...”

Peter whimpered, and George nodded.

“This is really gonna hurt, isn’t it?” Peter asked. His sweat-soaked hair was already plastered to his head, and George couldn't even imagine the kind of pain Peter must be in, right now — let alone how much he was about to be, if they had to deal with the bullet-wound while he was still awake.

“Sorry kid, but yeah,” George answered. He looked over the bullet wound, and the rest of the kid’s body, then looked to the kitchen, a really bad idea forming in his head.

“Any idea what his body does to alcohol? Drinking alcohol?” George asked.

“Uh...presumably the same thing as everything else,” Gwen said. “Peter?”

“Dunno...Aunt May and Uncle Ben never let me have more than a few sips of anything...” Peter said.

“That’s good, right now. It means you’ve got no built-up tolerance. Gwen, there’s a half-empty bottle of whiskey sitting at the back of cupboard above the fridge. Get that, a glass, and a straw.”

Both kids were looking at him in bewilderment.

“We can at least give those pain meds a boost — or try put him to sleep,” George said. “If we can’t go to a hospital...”

“Don’ have a fake ID,” Peter said as Gwen nodded. She clearly thought it was a bad idea, as well, but she also knew as well as George that right now, it might be all they’ve got.

“Good, kid,” George said as Gwen got up. “You shouldn’t drink.”

“But you’re about to make me.”

“Do you _want_ to be conscious for the rest of this?”

“...no,” Peter said. He closed his eyes, head leaning to the side of the pillow, under the towel, as he tried to not look down his body. “Aunt May is going to be so mad when she finds out I had booze.”

“Does she know?” George asked, suddenly realizing — she must be worried out of her mind, right now. “About any of this?”

“No,” Peter said. “I don’t think I want to keep this from her. But she’ll be so worried...”

“She’s already worrying, kid, I guarantee it.” George sighed a little. He’d have to call Mrs. Parker soon and tell her how to get here. After losing her husband, there was no way she wouldn’t want to cling to Peter. Not to mention that once this was all done, the kid was going to need a familiar face to wake up to.

Gwen came back with the scotch, and George muttered, “Don’t think this will be a repeat event, either of you,” as he poured it out. He tried not to feel like his gut was clenching at the thought of almost forcing a minor to get drunk.

“Believe me, Captain,” Peter mumbled. “Don’t wanna do this again.”

Peter took the first few sips, gagged — “People actually like this stuff?” — and then kept going when George reminded him of the one-step-down-from-open-surgery that they were going to have to do. They got two glasses in him before his eyes glazed over and he seemed to drift off.

“Dad,” Gwen said, and yeah, George could see the bullet wound already starting to look like it was a day or two old instead of just a few hours. They had to get that bullet out fast.

With pair of tweezers, a dissection scalpel, and a needle in her hands and a small flashlight held between her teeth, Gwen switched places with George. He carefully leaned his weight down on the kid’s hips and thighs, ready to keep the kid steady when Gwen started to work.

“This feels soooo wrong,” Peter said. Christ, he was drunk. And George, captain of the 19th precinct and protector of the law, got him that way.

George tried not to give into his hysteria, and mostly succeeded. But a small part of him couldn’t help but ask what the hell was he doing. Trying to do surgery on a drunk teenage Spider-Man’s leg on his living room couch? What the hell had his life become?

“I know, kid,” George said, instead of answering his internal monologue.

Gwen took a deep breath, and started in with steady hands.

And steady they remained, even when Peter’s leg jerked in pain, even when George grunted with the effort it took to hold him down, and even when Peter all but screamed as she finally reached the little piece of metal and lead embedded in his flesh.

George had never been so grateful for their ridiculous rent as right then, with the knowledge of the thickness of these walls protecting them from nosy neighbors.

She didn’t flinch at the sound, even when George did. Peter’s scream trailed off into broken sobs of pain as he turned and pressed his face into the back couch cushions. Gwen was crying, tears trailing down from reddened eyes, and she was swallowing almost continuously. Still, she worked with surgical precision, never faltering in her work as she widened the wound just enough to get to the troublesome bullet and extract it.

Thankfully, by the time she was actually pulling it out, Peter had passed out. His breathing was still ragged in his unconsciousness, but at least he _was_ unconscious.

She set the little piece of metal and lead on the table, as well as the flashlight, and immediately started wiping at the wound again with more warm-wet-and-sterile washclothes. George still needed to keep the kid’s leg still as his body twitched under her attention. The cloth turned red quickly, until it looked like it was red with spots of white on it, but soon enough the bleeding slowed to a near-stop. She stacked up a bunch of sterile pads over the wound, wrapped it in gauze, and another layer of bandages, and finally, George could breathe a small sigh of relief that at least that part was over with.

Gwen was leaning over Peter, pressing her face into the couch cushions as well as her body shook with the force of her own crying.

“Gwen?” he asked, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

She slowly sat back up and said with a dark, wet smile, “I think I’m going to cross ‘paramedic’ and ‘ER doctor’ off my list of potential career options.”

George’s lips twisted wryly as he nodded in agreement. “Good idea.”

He realized Gwen was looking at his body, and he looked down to see his shirt covered in spots of blood that weren’t Peters, and through some of the ripped material, he could see some cuts and bruises in his own flesh underneath.

“Huh,” he said. He honestly hadn’t noticed any of this until right now.

“You’re hurt,” Gwen mumbled. Any other time and he’d call it a bad night and let her take care of him.

But compared to the boy between them, George decided, “It can wait.”

Gwen nodded, realizing the same thing as she looked down at Peter’s chest, which was still so, so much worse.

“Let’s work fast,” she said. “Before he wakes up.”

“That was the plan.”

“Advanced metabolism, dad, he’s going to process all the drugs and alcohol fast, and wake up soon.”

“Then let’s work really fast if we don’t want to have to do this again.”

With one final sniffle, Gwen nodded, and they got to work.


	2. Chapter 2

It was dawn when they wrapped the last bandage around the Peter’s arm. Done with all the patching up she could do here, Gwen took a step back and took in the entire scene of blood and tears her living room had become.

The biggest gashes on Peter’s shoulder and stomach were wrapped with cloth bandages to deal with the occasional bleeding until his advanced healing took over, as was his leg, but the rest of his open wounds were being covered with liquid bandages. She was adamant that this time, nothing would get infected.

All the open wounds were being held open by superglue, because that would come off a lot easier than it would be to take out stitches. Peter healed too fast for stitches to be necessary.

She’d pressed some ice-packs on the unwrapped shoulder and prayed that most of the pain from the dislocated joint would be gone by the time Peter woke up again. The leg with the bullet wound in it was propped up on a pillow underneath his thigh. She made sure all the bandages were in place, and gently draped the softest blanket she had over him, tucking him in.

Turning away, she glanced at the coffee table — covered in bloodied towels and bloodier tools and a bucket of red water. Then, she noticed her dad wincing as he paced around, talking on the phone.

“Yes, yes, we’re on the twentieth floor. Yeah. He’s asleep, ma’am. I’m sorry. No, no, it’s okay, he was...hurt, I’m not going to lie to you. But we took care of it, he’s fine now and he’s resting. I thought you might want to see him, and that he could use a familiar face, right now. Might also want to bring an extra change of clothes. Yes, my daughter and I are fine, too, thank you for asking.”

Some more logistics, some more promises that Peter was okay, and then he was done.

The moment her father set his phone down, she nudged him into the armchair and said, “Don’t think I forgot about you, Dad.”

He smiled a little wanly, and pulled off his shirt. “Of course not.”

She’d been in charge of fixing her dad’s work hurts since she was young enough to still call them 'booboos' without shame. This was perhaps the worst state she’s ever seen her father in and still actually treated, herself. Yet somehow, it felt oddly anticlimactic to patch him up, tonight.

Gwen tried not to think about why that was, and carefully didn’t look at Peter or the blood-covered coffee table while working on her father.

She wiped down the cuts with antiseptic and treated the bruises as best as she could, and while he went to take a quick shower after last night, she grabbed a trashbag and dumped all the hand-towels in. There was just too much blood on them to be salvageable.

Even if they were cleaned and cleaned until they were whiter than the lab coats fresh from the cleaners, she’d never stop being able to see the blood.

She dumped out the bloody water and cleaned the bucket, then tidied up the rest of the living room mechanically. She was wiping down the coffee table when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and jumped up a little, turning to see her dad in a fresh set of jeans and a sweater with concerned eyes to match.

“You’ve been wiping that table for ten minutes,” he said softly. “And that was after it was clean, I’m sure.”

Gwen looked down, and indeed, she’d been rubbing practically the same spot with the same paper towel, which had no blemish besides the strong bleach.

She sighed.

“I...I think I’ll go wash up, too.”

“Gwen-”

“Please, Daddy, I just...”

She stood up and he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her and she pressed her face into his chest, hugging him back.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” George said. “You were very brave and very strong, tonight. You can let go if you need to.”

“...shower first,” she said, because she knew if she started crying she wouldn’t stop.

In the bathroom, she started up the water with the intent of pretending she couldn’t tell apart her tears from the shower spray, but in the end she didn’t bother, not when she saw how much blood was going down the drain and knew that not a drop of it was her own.

Instead, she cried and cried and didn’t try to pretend, even to herself, that wasn’t what she was doing, just watching as the water slowly turned from red to pink to clear and the whole night washed away along with its tears. Eventually, when the water ran cold, Gwen got out and got dressed in her own set of jeans and layered shirts with a sweater over it all, before she headed back out to the living room.

There, she saw her dad seated in one of the arm chairs, sipping at the scotch they’d used to sedate Peter. She sat down in the opposite chair by Peter’s head and carefully brushed some hair out of the healing lacerations along his hairline.

“So,” Dad eventually said. “That long talk I mentioned...?”

“Not much to say,” she said, looking out the window at the early-dawn light. How was it morning already? “When is Mrs. Parker going to get here?”

“Probably in about half an hour,” he said.

“I’d really rather not have to say this story twice,” she said.

He gave her a long, analyzing look, then slowly nodded.

“Peter hasn’t really told his aunt much about all this, anyway,” Dad said softly, glancing over to the boy in question. "But she needs to know."

They sat there in silence for another minute, before Dad turned away from Peter to grab the TV remote, and turn on the news.

Unsurprisingly, every news station in America was focused on New York, both for the Lizard’s attempted biological warfare and for yet more speculation about Spider-Man.

Surprisingly, though, was the attention focused on her father — and her.

“They...me?” she asked incredulously as she watched some ground-footage of her running out of the tower, handing off the antidote to her dad, him saying something to her quietly-

(“I get it. Your boyfriend is a man of many masks.”)

-and then her being dragged behind the police barrier while he ran into the tower.

Then came intermittent footage of Spider-Man, both when being taken down by the cops on the street and of him swinging across the city despite the bullet wound in his leg. Gwen didn’t think she’d ever been prouder of her city than when she watched all the cranes line up to get Peter across the city, and the police even helping him along.

When there were some distant shots of the rooftop battle, she watched it like it was a train wreck in the making. And when she saw the Lizard take vicious swipes at the tiny figures of the police chief and Spider-Man, Gwen had to turn and look at her dad and Peter to make sure, absolutely sure, they were all right.

...well, _alive_ at any right. Peter was not at all fine, not by any stretch of the imagination.

She watched the footage intently, but even knowing who Spider-Man really was, she couldn’t recognize Peter in any of the blurry shots of him without his mask, a fact for which she was eternally grateful.

Soon, the news switched over to official statements from various people about the 'incident'. That included her father — given right before they left the crime scene, from the looks of it — to OsCorps representatives to people from the CDC, Homeland Security, and the FBI, all of whom were basically admitting that they didn’t know what was going on, but they had it under control anyway, and implored people not to panic.

The news eventually cycled back to yet more footage from last night, and that was when her dad put the TV on mute and pulled out his phone from his pocket, taking a deep breath and wincing at whatever it was he saw on the screen.

Gwen pulled out her own phone and saw dozens of texts and missed calls and messages and Facebook alerts, and sighed as she started to work through them — after she changed some Facebook settings to make herself as hard to find as possible, save for her friends who already knew her.

She finished up answering all the social network alerts and responding to the messages. She was about to set in on the texts when out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter shift, and turned to see him awake, watching the TV through haunted eyes.

“Hey,” she said softly, slipping out of the chair to kneel in front of him. “How do you feel?”

“...dunno...” he said.

“How’s all that stuff we gave you holding up against your, uh, ‘metabolism’ thing?” her dad asked dryly.

“Okay, I thin’...” Peter mumbled, eyelids already drooping despite how much he was trying to focus on the television screen.

Smiling a little at his expression, Gwen pressed a kiss to his forehead and said, “Go back to sleep.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and within moments he was out again.

She tucked the blanket around him again and sat back in her chair, only to jump up when her dad stood up, groaned, and fell back into his seat.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, waving her off when she tried to help him. “I’m just old and superpower-less. The night’s finally catching up with me is all.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Think you can make some coffee?” Dad asked gently.

She swallowed and nodded. “Yeah, I — I can manage that. And maybe you should take some of those painkillers...” she said, gesturing to the orange bottle sitting on the table.

Her dad shook his head. “I need a clear head, today, which is probably already in jeopardy with that-” He pointed to the Scotch, she she knew he’d only taken a few sips of. “-and the Tylenol. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t believe him, but nodded anyway and went to the kitchen to put on a large pot of coffee. As the water heated up, she detoured to the bathroom to get some acetominophen, herself, already feeling the headache build up behind her eyeballs.

Back in the kitchen, she called her mom for a brief check in, then started answering her texts as she listened to her father talk call his superiors.

Apparently, it had taken quite a bit of string pulling for him to just go home and rest rather than immediately go to the hospital or the station with her in tow. But from the sounds of his arguments, battling a giant lizard on a skyscraper rooftop and stopping a biowarfare attack on America’s most populated city gave him a lot of clout. He seemed to talk about that a lot as he explained his reasoning, and vaguely explained that all he’d done last night was get his minor wounds patched up and try and get some sleep. That and hold his crying daughter to keep her from breaking down completely over her mentor trying to kill her.

Well.

Never let it be said the chief of police didn’t know how to lie.

She made a mental note to say the same story to her mom and to the cops if she ever needed to — and she would, soon.

He was just finishing up his calls and promising to be by the station in a few hours when she set a big mug of coffee down on the table in front of him. Gwen reclaimed her seat and sipped at her own mug, carefully watching Peter’s even breathing for signs of any trouble from that rib.

For a few moments, they sat there, quietly caffeinating themselves. Gwen had a borderline-hysterical thought that after last night, this sort of normalcy should not be possible, should not even be happening. How did one go from being giant, mutated creatures and combating biological terrorism in New York City to drinking coffee in their living room — in less than twelve hours?

Before she could take that thought any further, though, there was a knock on their front door.

“That would be his aunt,” her dad said, setting his cup down and going to the door.

Setting down her own half-empty cup down, she reached out and gently shook Peter awake.

“Hmm?” he hummed in confusion, blinking owlishly as he woke up.

“Your aunt’s here.”

“Aunt May?” he asked in surprise. She nodded, and with a pained wince, he started to push himself up. She helped him up, holding onto his arms as the blanket slipped off his shoulders and pooled around his waist. “Oww,” he mumbled as he scooted up the couch a little, shifting his weight as he tried to find the least painful position possible to sit in.

Just as she was about to ask him what hurt, Gwen heard a strangled gasp from behind her and a shocked, “Peter?!”

She turned to see May Parker standing in the living room entrance, staring at Peter and all his injuries in horror.

“H-hey, Aunt May,” Peter said weakly from Gwen’s side. He tugged at the blanket to cover himself, but it didn't do much good.

“Peter...” Mrs. Parker said again, with a slight whimper.

Peter opened his mouth, clearly about to try and come up with something clever to say, but before he could say anything he swayed in his seat. He let go of Gwen’s shoulder to clutch at his head, dropping the blanket in the process.

“Really not cool,” he mumbled, voice shaking a he sought balance against the back of the couch.

“Oh, my boy,” Mrs. Parker said. She strode forward and, perching on the edge of the couch, wrapped her arms around Peter and pulled him close, asking him, “What happened to you?”

“...rought night...” he said, in an even rougher voice.

He started shaking, trembling even more than he had been on and off all night, and soon he was sobbing as he clung to his aunt and cried like a lost little boy.

“Gwen,” she heard her father say lowly from above her. She turned and saw him jerk his head towards the kitchen, and she nodded.

Collecting the coffee mugs from the table, she followed her dad into the kitchen, allowing Peter to have his own little breakdown in peace.

After everything else, it was the least he deserved.

~*~

In the kitchen, George took the mugs from Gwen and poured them both some more coffee, adding in their preferred amounts of creamer and sugar.

The drinks ended up ignored on the countertop when Gwen pressed her face into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, drawing even more strength from her than she was getting from him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured before he pressed his lips to the top of her head, pressing his nose to her soft, gold hair. “You were so very brave, tonight, and so, _so_ strong. I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you.”

She mumbled something incomprehensible through the flesh of his chest, but she hugged him back even tighter, almost enough to aggravate his scrapes and bruises again. Almost, but not quite — ever the detail-oriented scientist, his daughter.

He thought he was going to have to hold her as she cried, too, but eventually she just stepped back, looked around herself, and said, “We need breakfast.”

“You’re hungry?”

“No,” she said, as if that were an explanation, and he supposed it was.

He nodded understandingly and watched as she walked over to the fridge and opened the door, only to stare a helplessly into it.

Feeling a little grim at the sight, George went into the living room and paused when he saw the torn-up Spider-Man suit splayed out across the coffee table. May Parker clutched the mask in a white-knuckled grip as she tightly embraced Peter in silence.

All things considered, she seemed to be taking the news of her nephew being Spider-Man...not as badly as she could have.

Peter saw him over her shoulder and said, “Hey, Cap’n.”

May looked over to him.

“Thank you,” she said with bone-deep sincerity that George was just a little unsure about what to do with. “For taking care of him.”

“And not arresting me,” Peter quipped. His typical smartassery was betrayed by the waver in his voice, and he leaned tiredly against his aunt and tried half-heartedly to tug the blanket over his shoulders again.

George tried to think of what to say, but was saved by Gwen appearing at his side and saying, “We’re making breakfast — any preferences?”

May shook her head, but Peter said, “Eggs. Aunt May needs eggs.”

The woman frowned in confusion and turned her head to look down at her nephew. “Peter, what are you talking about? I don’t need-”

“I forgot the eggs,” he implored her in weary distress.

The confusion on her face melted into something like heartbreak, and she wrapped him in another tight hug, dislodging the blanket again as she started murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear.

“So...eggs?” George asked wryly.

“Whatever’s fine,” Peter said, voice slightly muffled by May’s hair. “I’m not hungry, anyway.”

“You still need to eat, kid,” George said. “Especially after last night.”

“And for all the healing you have ahead of you,” Gwen said, sounding a little more confident now that she had a direction to follow and someone to take care of. His little doctor, all grown up.

“My gut’s not feeling so hot,” Peter said. “I think it’s going on strike.”

“You’re going to need a lot of food, Peter. Healing always takes a lot of energy, but especially for you, with your altered physiology-”

“It’s a really bad strike,” Peter added. “If I try to eat, upper management is going to pull a lock-out on me.”

The analogy stopped making any sense, but the sentiment was still clear. Gwen pursed her lips but turned sharply on her heel and went back into the kitchen, pulling things out of the fridge and pantry with determination as she appeared to decide Peter’s breakfast for him.

“I’ll help,” May said, getting up. Peter started to follow her, but she gently pushed his shoulder away, until he was laying down again. “You rest, okay? You need it.”

Peter clearly wanted to protest, but tiredness won out as he lay down completely and closed his eyes again.

May spent a few moments staring down at her nephew, before she followed George into the kitchen.

Where apparently Gwen had unloaded half the fridge. All their bacon and chicken was laid out next to the stove, the egg carton stood open beside their giant mixing bowl, their yogurt selection was lined up by the fridge, and she’d pulled out what looked to be every orange from their fruit bowl and set them all on the chopping board. Gwen stood in front of the fridge, looking contemplatingly down at the...

“Sweet potatoes?” he asked a little incredulously.

“Vitamin A,” she said curtly.

May looked as surprised and confused as George felt. When Gwen saw their faces, she said, “It helps healing. You and Peter are going to need it, dad.”

“Do you have any carrots?” May asked. “Those are high on Vitamin A, right? And I make a mean carrot and sweet potato soup.”

Gwen nodded, pulling out their bag of carrots and setting it down by the chopping board too, and May started asking about a few other ingredients as well.

George shook his head a little. Gwen had very little interest in cooking — much to her mother’s disappointment — but she had been keeping a close eye on the family’s nutrition for years.

He started cracking and beating the eggs, and made half a dozen omelettes, while Gwen and May worked on the bacon and that soup. Then he peeled and sliced what seemed like every orange they had. When George made the toast, Gwen plucked the regular, white bread out of his hand and replaced it with the whole-grain bread.

George could see her flipping through some nutrition app on her phone, and decided to just listen to her for now.

When he finally found himself at a loss for what to do, Gwen tried to push a can of nuts at him (“Yes, dad, that’s good for healing, please”). When May asked Gwen, “Do you have any peanut butter? Peter’s been going through it like crazy, lately,” Gwen shoved the entire jar at George, and a spoon.

George headed out to the living room. Peter was awake but only barely, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling.

“Here, kid, your aunt and Gwen seem to think you’ll want this,” he said, handing the jar and spoon to the kid, who sat up and took them from George after re-wrapping the blanket around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Captain,” Peter said, looking at the jar a little dubiously as he clutched at his stomach. George sat down in his armchair and started munching away at his peanuts, not tasting them as he started reading news alerts on his phone again. This entire mess was going to take ages to clean up, especially since George knew he’d be pulled from leading the case once his bosses found out just how much his daughter was involved in all of this.

The kid’s first few bites were tentative, but that was all it took for the hunger to kick in and override the nausea that George could sympathize with. Soon he was shoveling the peanut butter into his mouth. George wondered just what about it was so appealing, but then remembered the kid was part spider somehow and decided not to ask. It was only when he’d depleted two-thirds of the jar that he seemed to remember he wasn’t at home and it wasn’t his, and stopped, politely screwing the lid on it again, despite how much he clearly wanted to finish the whole thing off.

George eyed the kitchen and asked Peter, “You want to get dressed? I think they’ll be done, soon, and your aunt brought a change of clothes for you.”

Peter looked down at himself and blushed as he realized he was still in nothing but bandages and underwear. “Yes, please,” he said, face going red.

George grabbed the clothes from where May had dropped the bag and her purse by the living room entrance and helped the kid up, wrapping the blanket around him. He tried not to think of how he’d done the same for Connors last night as he helped the swaying kid to the bathroom.

He waited for a few moments, making sure he didn’t hear any heavy, worrying thuds from inside, before heading back to the kitchen to start moving food to the dining table. While the soup boiled away on the stove, the plates of bacon, eggs, and oranges were ready to be moved. May seemed to be doing most of the actual cooking, but Gwen was analyzing every ingredient carefully, maximizing the healing benefits of this one meal.

Sometimes, it was easy to forget the genius his daughter was. Other times, there was just no way to avoid it.

And sometimes, like last night, it was both at once.

When Peter eventually came in, dressed in jeans and some layered shirts and still clutching that blanket around him, he eyed the table and said, “Whoa,” and leaned against the doorway in surprise.

George looked down at where he was idly positioning plates on the table. It was horrifically surreal to see his hand, palm a little burned with the back bruised up and knuckles scraped, pushing a plate of sliced fruit around on the breakfast table. He should be down at the station working to clean up this mess with his city, and instead he was here at home, eating breakfast. There was still some part of him trying to figure out what happened last night, even though he’d been there through all of it and remembered every part clearly.

He doubted he'd ever forget.

“Yeah,” George said, as Gwen and May brought in the two soups. “I know, kid.”

Peter stood there awkwardly for several minutes, looking between the three of them and the table in inexplicable nervousness, before Gwen tugged him over to a seat by the window, putting him right where the sunlight was going to hit, soon. She probably noticed him shivering even under that blanket.

She set a large glass of water and a plate down in front of him, then piled up the plate with eggs, oranges, and toast.

Peter looked at the food a little fearfully.

“My gut is really not-”

“Just make sure to chew a lot more than you normally might and take some water with every bite,” Gwen said calmly, patting his head like she often did her brothers. “Even when you’re fine you need more protein than a normal human. And now? You’ll need a _lot_ of it. And iron, to make up for the blood loss.”

“Oh, c’mon, I do not need that much, not all at once.”

“Then eat slowly.”

Shaking his head a little incredulously and refusing to compare their arguing to old married couples, George went into the kitchen to help May clean up.

They were quiet, at first, letting the kids’ discussion about nutrition and enzymes and something about different digestion systems drift over their heads.

Eventually, May broke the silence by asking, “What happened to him, Captain? Really?”

“I don’t know for sure,” he said. “Gwen says she and Peter will tell us both the full story at once. But...how much have you watched the news, lately, especially about Spider-Man?”

“I’ve heard about Spider-Man as a vigilante,” May said softly, pausing her wiping down the stove but not looking up from the smooth surface. “And about the bridge, with the lizard and the cars and that kid he rescued. And this morning I saw some news reports about a giant lizard attacking the city, trying to commit biological warfare. You and Spider-Man stopped him. I only heard them talking about it, because I shut off the TV when you called and haven’t looked for more, since then. I wish I’d waited just a few more minutes to see...”

“What did Peter tell you?”

“Just that he was Spider-Man. That he had powers and abilities from a mutated spiderbite, something to do with his father’s work in transgenics. And that he was sorry, and he’d try to make everything okay again, and then he started going on about some eggs I’d asked him to get and something about drinking and his uncle and that lizard thing...”

“Yeah, I guess he’s still a little loopy,” George said. “We had to...I hate to say the word ‘sedate’ but that was pretty much it. Double-dosing him on vicodin and backed it with some scotch. Obviously not ideal, but he and Gwen both seem convinced a hospital is doing to doom him somehow, and considering what I saw last night I’m inclined to believe them.”

“What did you see last night?”

George took a deep breath. “We’d make jokes about Spider-Man not being human because of what he was capable of. At first, it was just a joke, and we thought he must be someone well trained, maybe ex-military or something. We soon realized maybe the joke was a little closer to the truth than we thought. He was sticking to walls and ceilings, for crying out loud. And then...”

May looked at him in confusion, and George decided on a slightly different direction.

“Did he ever get any kind of martial arts training in his life?”

Here, May quirked her lips in what looked like fond reminiscence.

“He saw an action movie as a kid and wanted to become a ninja. We did a three-day free trial at place that gave karate lessons and he decided he’d rather go back to being...I think it was ‘mad biologist’. Or maybe a fire-fighter. He kept switching between them for a while.”

George briefly thought of the time his daughter was convinced she could become a doctor, a ballerina, and professional scuba diver all at once, and smiled. His expression sobered as he remembered last night.

“Well, I don’t think he’s ever had any professional training of any kind. Yet last night, just minutes after being electrocuted, he snapped our handcuffs like they were loose threads and took down half a dozen of my best-trained SWAT officers in seconds with some of the most fluid combat moves I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen plenty. He looked like he barely broke a sweat. If you switch on the news, you’ll probably see footage of it, soon. It’s dark and grainy but there’s enough limb detail to see what I mean-”

“Electrocuted?!”

Right.

“...did he show you his leg?” George asked. “I don’t want there to be any nasty surprises, later on.”

“What nasty surprises?” she asked in horror, turning away from her cleaning entirely. “You...you said you had to sedate him?”

“Yeah...in order to pull a bullet out of his leg.”

She gasped, hand flying to cover her mouth on reflex, before she turned and fled to the other room. George looked in to see her tightly embracing her confused nephew tightly from behind.

“You didn’t tell me you were shot!” she said. “What else?”

“...can we get to that later?” Peter said. “Gwen and Captain Stacy took care of it, I promise.”

“Peter!”

“Aunt May, I swear, I — look, it’s bad, but not too bad-”

George snorted in disbelief.

“And we have to explain everything at once so let’s just...let’s just get to breakfast and me and Gwen can talk about everything then.”

“Oh, _now_ you want to eat,” his daughter muttered without heat.

May didn’t seem inclined to let go of Peter for the moment, so George went and finished up in the kitchen on his own, Gwen popping in to help at the last minute, before they carried out a few more spoons and joined the Parkers at the table.

Once they were all seated and had bowls and plates full in front of them, George turned to the kids and said, “You guys owe us both an explanation. We want the whole story.”

“It goes back a long way, Captain,” Peter said, moving his spoon idly through the sweet potato soup but not eating any just yet. “Not like ancient conspiracies or anything...though my life is now a scifi movie, anyway, so I don’t know how much that helps.”

George raised an eyebrow, and with a bit of soup, Peter started talking.


	3. Chapter 3

He already knew about how Peter’s parents had left him with his aunt and uncle, and then disappeared. He’d read those reports, too, right after reading the ones about his uncle’s death. It was a sad story, he’d have to admit, but he didn’t see the immediate relevance here until Peter mentioned his father worked with Connors.

They were once friends, apparently.

Most of the advanced science stuff Gwen and Peter described went right over George’s head - and May’s, from the looks of it.

He looked a little sharply at his daughter’s fond smile when she made a stalking joke as Peter admitted his illicit visit to OsCorps had nothing to do with her, but frowned when Peter lingered on describing the spider bite.

“You said the bite gave you powers?” May asked.

“I think so,” Peter said. “I...I don’t think it was entirely an accident. When I started realizing how much I was changing, what was going on, everything - I found Doctor Connors at his home and asked him some questions about other test subjects. I didn’t tell him about me and what I was going through, but it didn’t really matter - all he had to say was that all the other test subjects died.”

May breathed in sharply as George winced at the thought of how close Gwen was working with all this stuff. What if something similar happened to her?

“You said you don’t think it’s an accident?” George asked.

“I think it’s a pretty big coincidence that the son of the lead researcher of the original project could get bitten by the spiders he was working on, and instead of dying that son gets super-powers. Too big of a coincidence to be one,” Peter said. “I don’t know how, what, or why, but I think my parents may have done something to me that made it possible for me to thrive from the spider bite instead of die.”

May started asking about the weird food he was apparently eating as of late. And something about a broken sink which made Peter blush and focus on eating his soup for a while. Gwen started in on spider-digestion and nutrition she’d apparently started researching from the moment she found out what Peter was.

Before she could get into enough detail to ruin what little of an appetite George still had, he asked Peter, “So you talked to Doctor Connors? Did you ever tell him about what was going on in you?”

“No, but...” Peter sighed. “I was feeling pissed off that my dad had just...abandoned me. I mean, I know now that’s not what happened, but I felt like that. I also felt like he’d...Doctor Connors really did want to help the world with all the research. But he was also depending on transgenics to fix his arm, and here I was, a successful subject, with my dad’s old notes that could make it work, while Doctor Connors was losing hope about ever regaining his arm. So I didn’t tell him about what was happening, but...I did something much worse.”

George frowned. Gwen seemed to already know his part as she reached out to lace her fingers through his.

“I mentioned my dad’s old notes?” They all nodded. “Well, there was one particular piece of the puzzle Doctor Connors didn’t have, but needed to get his formula working. Specifically, an equation. And I had it, and after everything else, I thought he deserved it a lot more than whatever secrets my dad wanted to keep...so I gave it to him.”

Peter stared down at the table as his lips twisted in grim self-deprecation.

“I basically created the Lizard.”

George’s gut twisted at the kid’s expression. It was haunting to see such self-loathing on the face of someone so young.

“I...I helped him. Make that formula. I was hoping we could go on working on it together. It was like having a bit of my dad back. But then...”

He looked at his aunt hesitantly. “The...the reason I was late, that night, picking you up. It's because I was working with Doctor Connors.”

And his aunt was crying again, one tear she wiped away as she leaned over to hold Peter close to her again. At George and Gwen’s confusion, she said, “That’s the night Ben died.”

Gwen visibly swallowed, and Peter went on.

“So, I told you guys about that. Me starting up the Spider-Man thing. Then suddenly, the Lizard on the bridge.” He paused. “I don’t know when, how, or why Doctor Connors took that serum. I mean - I know he was desperate, but even he should have known that tests needed to be done, and- I kind of think that maybe, after all the work we did, when I got so caught up in trying to find Uncle Ben’s killer, for him it was like my dad all over again-”

“Peter, don’t blame yourself,” Gwen said.

“Gwen,” Peter said, looking up at her helplessly. “I-”

“No, really, let’s not,” George cut in. “I want to hear Doctor Connors’ side of the story from him. Anything from either of you would probably be conjecture at this point. If it’s really such a departure from his usual behavior...”

He remembered last night, the way Connors had seemed so convinced that someone was going to attack his work, how relieved he’d looked when George ordered that no one from OsCorps be allowed to speak to him. At least three separate corporate representatives have already tried, according to his lieutenant, and one tried to bribe her.

“...I’m pretty sure that something else happened that drove Connors to this. But we can’t speculate on that because we don’t know anything else. So, just try to tell me what happened after that.”

Peter drank half his glass of water, and Gwen topped it up while he continued.

“I still didn’t know it was Connors by that point, but he was the only guy I knew who might have some insight into this. But when I went to talk to him some more about transgenics, he was suddenly all shut-off about it. At first I thought he was upset that I’d left him hanging, before, but then I saw the rat he’d first tried the serum on - it was mutated and big and violent and it had eaten another rat. Combined with the weird way he was acting, and how mad he got when I started asking about how to hunt lizards and stuff, and how...off he was about them-”

“‘About them’?”

“...he kept talking about how lizards were always at the top of their food chain, and nothing hunted them down. I knew that was false, and that he should’ve known. It was like he was trying to intimidate me. Then I realized that was exactly what he was trying to do.”

“So what then?”

“That’s when I went to warn you,” Peter said, a little sullenly.

George sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he remembered that day. “And I didn’t believe you. Right. Would it make you feel any better if I told you we ordered a background check on him?”

“...did you find anything?”

“No.”

Peter bit his lip, and tugged that blanket over his shoulders again. The sunlight was starting to hit his back, and he appeared to be trying to lean into it a little, trying to gain as much warmth as possible. Was this just the leftover shock and him coming down off the drugs, or something to do with his spider...thing?

“Well, you guys didn’t believe me, and the only proof I had could have implicated me as Spider-Man, so I started to try and hunt him down himself. I ended up running into the Lizard in the sewers. We fought and I...I um, well, I lived, and I...didn’t get beat up too badly. I came here, Gwen fixed me up, and then I...waited.”

“Waited?”

“I tried looking for Connors, and the Lizard,” Peter said. “But Connors had disappeared off the map and the Lizard was nowhere to be found, by me or you guys. So I just waited for him to make his next move.”

“And that next move was...?”

“Yesterday.”

George blinked as he thought. “Your school?”

Peter swallowed, that haunting look back on his face again as he said, “Connors - the Lizard - was there to kill me.”

“You’re sure?”

“He wasn’t going after anyone else. I fought, kept him away from the other students. When he vanished, I found where he’d come in through.”

“Hole in a girls’ bathroom, right?” George asked. “That’s what my junior officers reported.”

Peter nodded. “So I followed him down his little Chamber of Secrets.”

“That’s when I called him,” Gwen said. “To ask him if he was okay and just what was going on. He asked me to run an antidote, told me where to look, and I went.”

“I kept going,” Peter said. “And...that Chamber of Secrets thing? I found some kind of makeshift lab. He’d left everything open - he was off in a rush - and on his computer there was some kind of video diary. That was how I found out what he was planning.”

“So you...?”

“Went after him. But that was when I got sidetracked by you guys on the street...and you know the rest of the story from there,” Peter said.

He did know. All too well.

May reached over to hug Peter again, and he leaned into her embrace. Gwen let go of Peter’s hand to squeeze George’s just once, before father and daughter focused on their food. Soon the Parkers did the same.

It was Gwen who broke the silence by saying, “So what now?”

“What do you mean?” May asked, frowning in worried confusion.

“We’ve got all this sorted out, information-wise,” George said. “Now the question is, what will we do with it?”

“I really don’t want to get caught and go to jail,” Peter said.

“Or worse,” Gwen said, cutting into her eggs. “Get caught and _/_ go to jail.”

Everyone stared at her.

“What do you mean?” May asked.

“I mean that, Spider-Man isn’t a normal human," Gwen said, gesturing at Peter with her fork. "There are a lot of people out there who would want to...study him.”

Study him?

“Oh, god,” George said, hit with a sudden realization. “Last night - Connors told me...he told me to make sure you didn't end up turning into some Defense Department lab rat.”

And he could just see it, Peter strapped to some table, somewhere, with a dozen mad scientists towering over him and experimenting on him. After last night, his imagination was all too vivid.

He looked over to Peter to see him wound up tight, staring at George in fear.

“I’m not going to turn you in,” George snapped in exasperation.

Peter shut his eyes, clearly still terrified, but nodded. George was a little bit insulted that Peter could still think he’d turn him in after everything, but considering how much George was having trouble believing himself, he supposed he couldn’t blame the kid. Besides, whatever the creepy lab experiments George could imagine after treating the kid's injuries, it must be ten times worse for him, having actually gone through it.

“Peter?” May said. “Why don’t you just focus on eating your soup for right now? We’ll think of something-”

“I’m not feeling well, Aunt May,” he said, pushing his bowl away. “I can’t-”

“You still shouldn’t be starving yourself,” George said. “You’re obviously not feeling in top shape-”

“Captain,” Peter said hoarsely. “In the last twenty-four hours, I’ve been beaten, shot, stabbed, strangled, electrocuted, and beaten up again. Excuse me for not feeling like 'myself' at the moment!”

The tension was impenetrably thick as they all stared at Peter, his horrifically-understated outburst hanging in the air between them.

“...s-sorry,” Peter said, gripping his seat and ducking his head. God, he looked so young, terrified and hunched into his blanket as he was. “I’m just - after-”

“You’re right, kid,” George said.

Peter’s head snapped up so fast George almost wanted to check his neck wasn’t broken. How it wasn’t broken after last night, actually...well, that was another thing he wasn’t going to question too closely. He’d rather just be grateful for it.

The kid was sixteen and had protected him from the worst of the Lizard’s damage last night. The part of George that had driven him to spend his life protecting people couldn’t get over that.

“I’m sure some of this food can be packed up to go,” George said finally. “You can eat later.”

Peter breathed out a sigh of relief, which George got the feeling had little to do with the food actually in front of them.

“But, Gwen’s right - we do need to plan what we’re going to do from here on out,” George said. “Specifically - when you, Gwen, and Connors talk give your statements, your stories need to mostly match up.”

“Wait, me? Why me?” Peter asked.

“Because you caused quite a commotion when you came down to the station to warn us about Connors,” George said with a sigh, reaching for his own glass of water. “And you turned out to be right. Someone is going to remember that, and they are going to have some serious questions for you - namely how the hell you knew.”

“There’s another problem,” Gwen said, looking contemplatingly down at her plate. “How I’m supposed to have known to go to OsCorps and make an antidote.”

May frowned at that one. “Can’t you just say Spider-Man-”

“She called me on my own phone,” Peter said. “There’s a record of that somewhere. The answer to that question is ‘how did _I_ know to call her and ask for an antidote?’.”

“Not to mention a few other things that need to fit into the story, too,” George said.

May gave each of them a strong look - and a particularly worried one for Peter - and said, “I’ll pack up all this food, then.”

Both kids stood up to help - well, Peter tried, anyway - and May waved them both off. After asking where everything was, she bustled around to try and pack things up as best as possible.

“And now I have to come up with a reason for all the missing Tupperware, too,” Gwen muttered when May walked into the kitchen with the chicken soup pot.

“Just say it’s for an experiment. Your mother won’t notice as long as it’s back after a couple days,” George said with a tired sigh.

God, he was planning a cover-up. Him. A police captain.

“Well, what _do_ we say?” Peter asked as his aunt walked back in. “Because in all this...I got nothing.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be smart, Parker,” Gwen said slyly, a note of affection in her eyes.

“Believe it or not, I’m actually not that good a liar,” Peter said. May, lifting up two plates from the table, smiled at him in approval before turning towards the kitchen again. “Me getting away with the Spider-Man thing kind of depends on no one asking me any questions in the first place.” He frowned. “And, Captain - you saw my face, out on the street. How are you-”

“I can take care of that,” he said. He could think of a few lies to work with that already. “The real problem is how to keep the story as close to the truth as possible so that other evidence matches up - phone logs, security cameras, those sorts of things.”

Peter’s eyes widened comically. “My first time at OsCorps...”

“Dad,” Gwen said, quickly cutting Peter off. “They won’t look at those security tapes if we don’t mention that time, date, and place, right?”

“In a building that big? Pretty much.”

Gwen nodded decisively. “So we just don’t bring that up. The only important part would be you going to Connors directly and talking to him, and giving him the equation.”

“You gave him the equation, worked out the serum together...” George paused. “I’d suggest playing up the daddy issues schtick when you give your statement, by the way. Police can be suckers for that kind of thing, as much as it pains me to admit it.”

Peter nodded rapidly. Seriously, how was he not breaking his neck? “Okay, personal problems that I never talked about with anyone ever in my life before, to a bunch of complete strangers looking to analyze every single word I say. Got it. I can totally do that.”

George just sighed, and continued working out a plausible lie. “You were on one of your visits with him when you pieced things together, and came to warn us. You were attacked by the Lizard - as in Peter, not Spider-Man - at some point after that.”

Oh, god, the lies. He was going to need more scotch once all this was over.

“What about the scars?” Gwen asked. Her eyes widened with more realization. “Wait, what about the leg with a bullet wound in it?”

George rubbed his temples. Right.

“I can probably keep them from doing any kind of full-body analysis. If you can keep from limping, kid, then they won’t ask too many questions and they’ll just take a look at your upper body.”

Peter was blushing furiously again but nodded. “Okay, but - the attack? How do we work that in?”

“Well,” George said. “We just need to say that when the Lizard attacked the school, he was looking for _you_ , Peter Parker - which is technically true. He figured out that you knew who he was and that you were a danger to him.”

“But that won’t explain the scars,” Gwen said.

George pursed his lips as he realized what was going to have to happen.

“Captain?” Peter asked.

“I hate to say this, but - you’ll need to fix those up quite a bit, because with your healing rate, those scars looks several weeks old, maybe even several months. There is no way we can work that into the story. When my people take a look at those injuries, they need to be...recent.”

The kids both looked down at Peter’s chest.

“I can...I think I know how to make it all look recent,” Peter said hoarsely. “I’mna need a knife set and some sandpaper, though. And maybe some more of those painkillers.”

George shut his eyes as the implications of what Peter was going to have to do sunk in. “Take my whole bottle, kid, you need it a lot more than I do.”

Peter looked ready to protest, but then thought better of it and shut his mouth again.

“So...Connors attacked me at the school,” Peter said.

“And Spider-Man showed up and saved you from him,” George said. Peter bit his lip and looked ready to laugh incredulously, but just nodded.

“When Gwen called me, I asked her to run an antidote, because I figured you’d know how and that would fix Connors and end the Lizard. What did I do after that?”

“This is right around where your story ends,” George said. “After your phone call, you told Spider-Man what Gwen was doing, and he followed the Lizard into the sewers. You slipped the net of police officers and tried to go to OsCorps, but realize you were hurt, got home, passed out until this morning.”

“...wow, um, okay,” Peter said nodding. “Right, that doesn’t sound a little too convenient at all.”

“It’s all about how you act while talking about,” George said. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palm for a moment - great, now he was actively coaching his daughter and her boyfriend on how to lie to the police. What the hell was wrong with the world, this morning? “Just...act upset. You wanted to go home to do something else to help, passing out wasn’t supposed to happen. You’re a teenage boy, they’ll buy the bravado if you play it right.”

“Channel your inner Flash,” Gwen said to him a little teasingly, which made Peter grimace and clutch at the edges of his seat again.

“So, that’s everything?” Peter asked, sounding so very tired as he clearly tried to process the plan. “I...I can do that.

“Good,” George said, looking down at his watch. “Because we have to move fast. Gwen and I have to be down at the station soon, and you need to fix up all your injuries and scars.”

Which, delightfully, was right when May walked in.

“I thought you already took care of them?” she asked.

“Not that kind of taking care of them, Aunt May,” Peter said. “Let’s just get ready to go-”

“What kind of taking care, Peter?” May asked, crossing her arms. “Peter, please - I’ve let you keep your silence for too long as it is.”

Peter looked at Gwen and George a little helplessly, looking like he was barely restraining himself from crying.

Gwen looked almost the same, but she took pity on Peter and said, “He has very advanced healing, Mrs. Parker - he heals fast, which is great, but the police are going to want to take a look at those injuries later today, and when they do, they need to be a bit more recent than they currently look.”

May stared at her. “You don’t mean-”

“I have to reopen them, or...re-do them,” Peter said, swallowing.

May stared at the three of them in horror, before shaking his head. “No, you can’t, Peter - he’s already suffered enough, I think!”

“I think so, too,” George said. “And he’ll have to go through even more hell if we don’t do this right.”

“It’s okay, Aunt May,” Peter said, reaching out to grab his hand, his reassurances seeming to help despite the fact he looked one step away from falling apart himself. “I heal fast, remember? It’ll be like papercuts for me, just a lot more than usual.”

“Papercuts?” she asked incredulously. “Peter, how can you-”

“It’s either a bit more misery now or a lot more later,” Peter said. “You’re the one always telling me to think about my future.”

May’s expression shattered. “Peter-”

“I’ll be fine, really,” Peter said, letting go of her hand to pull the blanket tighter around himself. He looked down at the table. “I’ve broken into a major research corporate base, been genetically and physiologically altered from a spider-bite, spent weeks tracking down and stopping criminals, saved a kid from a burning car, stopped a giant Lizard that used to be my second father-figure from committing bioterrorism, I’ve already been beaten up a dozen times, and after everything last night - I think I can handle making a few more cuts and scrapes on myself.”

Peter was breathing deeply at this point, his forehead nearly touching the table as he curled up around himself, and May was desperately rubbing his back and trying to think of something to say.

“I’ve been hurt by nearly everything else one way or another,” Peter said with choking gasps. Gwen just stared at Peter in shock. “Why not myself, too? It’s...fitting. Might as well make-up for what happened to Uncle Ben and Doctor Connors and...and...”

George just took in everything about the kid, finally being hit by everything that had happened to him, and finally falling apart.

“Ladies,” George said. “I know this is a tough request, but mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

Gwen and May looked at each other, then Peter. Finally, Gwen nodded, standing up and gently leading May to the kitchen with the last of the breakfast plates.

Peter didn’t notice, and with a long-suffering sigh George got up and pulled out Peter’s chair a little, making him jump and grab the edges as he looked wildly around himself.

George plopped himself in the chair beside Peter after turning the seats so they were facing each other.

“Let’s start with something simple,” George said. “Breath in for five seconds, holding it for five seconds, breathe out for five seconds. Like this, with me...”

Peter stared at him incredulously, eyes still wide with latent panic, but listened, and after a few minutes seemed to calm down. He was shaking even more, now, and gripping the chair even more. But he looked like he was in the present, at least, no longer mired in horrific memories of everything that’s been happening to him for the last few months.

“Th-thanks, Captain,” Peter mumbled.

“I’m not done,” George said, causing Peter to look up at him warily, shoulders still hunched down as they were. “First off - you can’t blame yourself for your Uncle Ben. Yeah, he was there because of a fight. He also could’ve been there because he forgot those eggs your aunt was asking about. Or because he wanted to go for a walk. Or any other number of reasons. He could have just as easily been stopping any other robbery he happened across. You could’ve been a truly helpless kid in the face of a robbery without superpowers-”

“It doesn’t matter what _could_ have been,” Peter started.

“You’re right,” George said. It felt disconcertingly like talking down rookies after their first bad beats, and maybe that was the path to go, here. “Maybe it was your fault, probably it wasn’t. But you know what? There’s nothing you can do to change that. The only thing you _can_ do, you’ve already done.”

Peter looked at him, the unspoken question hanging in between them.

“Learn from it,” George answered. “Learn from your mistakes, and learn from the bad things that happen in the world. Make sure what happened to you doesn’t have to happen to anyone else you can help. You did that all on your own, kid, and while you had one hell of a rough start, you still did good. You can do even more good if we get through today.”

Peter’s jaw tightened, but he slowly nodded.

“Now, as for Doctor Connors,” George said. “I’m not going to lie - you should’ve recognized that your father probably had a damn good reason for withholding this kind of thing from his best friend in the first place, one he apparently wanted to help just as much as you did. But your father also shouldn’t have left you in that position. And there appear to be other forces at play besides just you, your dad, and Connors. You can’t control what happens to a person or what they do in response - only what you do.”

“So it’s...what, only slightly my fault?” Peter asked. “If I hadn’t-”

“There are a lot of things in the world which would be better if we ‘hadn’t’ done something, or if we had. What if Connors hadn’t taken that serum he knew full well was still dangerous and untested? What if your father hadn’t left you with that equation after vanishing? There are a lot of ‘what ifs’, kid, but most of them are useless because most of them are behind us.”

“That...that’s not comforting,” Peter said, just a little shyly.

“It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to be practical. Learn from your mistakes and move on, kid. I know that’s hard, believe me - but it’s all we can really do, and it’s what we _have_ to do. For Gwen and your aunt’s sake, if not our own.”

Peter glanced towards the kitchen. Quiet murmuring and pots and dishes being washed drifted in, and for a few moments the two men let the sounds wash over them, before George continued.

“I know it’s going to be rough,” George said. “And I can’t imagine having to go home and hurt yourself as badly as you’ll have to do later. And I am so very, very sorry that you will have to. But like you said, kid, you’ve already been through hell and back. More than once. You can do this for just a little longer, and soon we’ll be past this thing, and you can go back to being Spider-Man. The city’s own superhero.”

“Back to spending my nights chasing down criminals and getting beat up and being hunted down by the police?” Peter asked a little pointedly.

“...hopefully not hunted by the police,” George said. “If I can’t get the arrest warrant pulled, I think I can at least make sure my officers collectively decide arresting you is not at all a priority order to act upon.”

Peter laughed, brittle and broken like he could fall apart into a million shards at any minute. “What am I doing to you, Captain? You’re...you never struck me as a dirty cop. But I’m making you into one, aren’t I?”

George winced.

“Not...maybe a lying cop, but not a dirty one. You’re not bribing me to get away with crime. You and I need to commit a few small crimes to stop a lot more and a lot larger ones. It’s not perfect, and I don’t like it. But I can’t change the laws regarding law enforcement in New York City, and something tells me you can’t really stop being Spider-Man.”

Peter made a noise that sounded like a hiccup, despite the lack of sobbing, and nodded. “Yeah, that...that’s not happening anytime soon. I can’t...I can’t just stop protecting people when I know I’m able to.”

George smiled. “And that’s the part that makes you a hero, kid. The superpowers are just a boost up.”

Peter swallowed and nodded. He was sitting up a little straighter, now, sunlight from the window washing over him.

“Now come on, let’s go before they get any more worried,” George said, gesturing to the kitchen. He got up and helped Peter up, and as soon as they entered May left the last of the the spoons in the drying rack to wrap her damp arms around Peter and pull him close.

“You two should go home, so the story makes as much sense as possible,” George said to the Parkers. “Between Gwen and Connors, there will probably be someone at your home to talk to you around early to mid afternoon.” He looked to Peter. “You think those scars will be fixed by then?”

Peter grimaced but nodded.

“Let’s get you in your jacket,” May said, herding him towards the living room. “I brought one for you.”

“I’m sixteen, Aunt May, not six,” Peter said without a trace of genuine protest in his voice.

“I’ll change into something more work-appropriate,” George said, smiling wryly as May wrapped a protective arm around Peter’s shoulders and led him away.

In his bedroom, George spared a moment to bury his face into the clothing on his wife’s side of the closet, breathing in the scent of his wife and her favorite detergent.

So. He was aiding and abetting a superpowered vigilante, planned out a cover-up, taught two kids how to lie to the police, and talked Spider-Man out of a mental breakdown.

“God, help me,” he muttered into the various fabrics pressed against his skin. “For Gwen’s sake if not my own. And the kid’s.”

He changed into his uniform and cleaned up a little, and within minutes went back out to the living room to find the others all layered up to head out, but seated on the couch and avidly watching the news. Peter sat between the two women, each of them clasping one of his hands in their own.

George looked at the TV to see it was one of the news copter videos follow Spider-Man through the city right before-

May quivered in her seat as on screen, the tazer dart hit Spider-Man when he was several dozen feet in the air. Even after he hit the ground and lay nerve-wrackingly still, he kept jerking and spasming as the shocks ran through his body.

“Sorry about that, kid,” George said. When he realized Peter had flinched at the sight of himself from the night before, he decided not to mention that he’s pretty sure that dart was from a round George had fired himself. He turned to May and said, “You’ll see what I was talking about in a minute.”

Even as everything played out with tiny figures in a dark and grainy video, it was still breathtaking to see Spider-Man in action. He could still feel the bruises on his back from when the kid knocked his legs out from under him with what felt like a flick of his wrist. Peter ducked his head as May stared wide-eyed at the screen where Spider-Man moved like he had no spine or bones, yet with enough strength to make taking down a fully-trained SWAT team look almost effortless. As on screen, George aimed a gun at Spider-Man’s back - god, at Peter’s back - Peter pressed his face into Gwen’s shoulder while May looked at her nephew in awe.

Actually, now that George really thought about it - where _did_ the kid pick up all those moves? Spider bite or not, how did he learn to move with such lethal grace, how to execute those moves so smoothly?

Despite how much it was niggling at him to ask, he knew that was a question for another time.

“Come on,” he said, switching off the TV. “We need to focus on getting Peter and Mrs. Parker out the back without anyone seeing them - or at least anyone who might end up talking to any of my people.”

May glanced back at the darkened screen, then stood up and helped Peter up with a determined look on her face. Something fiercely gentle, yet ultimately protective.

George supposed Peter had to have gotten it from somewhere.


	4. Chapter 4

Peter nearly fell asleep while standing-up twice on the way home - probably courtesy of those extra pills Gwen had made Peter take before shoving the entire bottle in May’s bag.

Once they were on the subway, though, May let Peter sleep on his shoulder, wrapping one arm around him and using the other one to wipe away the occasional drool.

All around her, she could hear people talking about last night - those who were talking, anyway. About the Lizard, about the attack, and about Spider-Man. Peter.

Someone mentioned something about having seen Spider-Man swing by above her head while making his way across the city, flying hundreds of feet in the air on thin cables without hesitation, and May looked down at her baby boy and pressed her lips to the top of his head, shutting her eyes and trying not to cry. She’d shed enough tears this morning, she wasn’t going to lose it on the train home.

Approaching their stop, she shook Peter awake.

“I drooled, didn’t I?” Peter mumbled as he stood up. “Gross.” May just kissed his cheek and looped her arm through his.

Thankfully, the little nap perked him up enough to let him walk home under his own steam. Once inside, though, he flopped back across the couch, only to groan in pain. May’s hands shook as she recalled just what kinds of hurts and injuries he aggravated by such a benign habit of his.

For lack of anything better to do, May grabbed a blanket out of the hallway closet and draped it over Peter, pausing only to kiss his forehead before tucking him in. At least that brought a smile to his face.

One which quickly fell as she stood up.

“What time is it?” he asked her.

May looked at the clock. “Goodness, it feels like it should be so much later. It’s almost nine. Why?”

He twisted his lips, and his entire chest shook as he laughed darkly.

“Peter?” she asked nervously.

“Twelve hours ago I was fighting a giant lizard on a skyscraper rooftop. And now I’m here. How is this my life?”

May stared down at him a little helplessly, and when he caught sight of her face, he immediately looked apologetic.

“Sorry, sorry, just...” He shook his head. “Never mind. Remember to wake me up at noon? Like, by noon, drag-me-off-the-couch-if-you-have-to type wake me up?”

“For your wounds?” she asked. He nodded. “Peter, I - are you sure there’s not other way?”

“Don’t you think I would have tried if there were?” he said.

“Peter!”

“I have to!” he cried out sharply.

May stepped back and nearly fell over onto the coffee table - would have, except Peter had stood and caught her faster than she could blink, his eyes wide in shock and fear.

For a few moments they stood like that, before May slowly stepped aside and sat down on the couch, gently tugging Peter beside her.

He looked so terrified, and it scared May to realize he was so scared of himself.

“Oh, my baby,” she murmured, pulling him close.

He clutched onto her like he was little again.

“I’m sorry, Aunt May, so sorry. For all of this.”

“Shh,” she said.

“...but I still have to do it,” he said, so quiet she nearly didn’t hear him. “This case is getting so much attention and scrutiny, one little detail could make it all fall apart.”

There was no way she could hold her tears in at that.

“I’m sorry, Aunt May,” Peter said. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, pulling away to press her forehead against his.

“You rest,” she said. “I’ll wake you up at noon. And I’ll help you, if you need it.”

“...thank you.”

She nodded. Reached up to stroke his hair a little bit. “My brave little superhero.”

“I’m taller than you.”

“You’re still a little boy to me,” she said. She gently pushed him down on the couch again, making sure there was a good pillow beneath his head. “Now go to bed.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

~*~

George had left Gwen sitting at his desk, giving her statement to his lieutenant before he went and talked directly to the commissioner about his request. He hated having to play up his heroics - he hated police politicking, and boasting without bragging always struck him as the worst of it - but it was the best card George had to play in order to help Gwen and Peter.

Within half an hour, he was walking down to Connors’ cell with a breakfast tray in his hands. Ostensibly an excuse to have a private, off-the-record meeting with Connors without muddling up the already shady legalities of the matter too much.

In reality, no matter how off-the-books it was, George knew they would be watched and recorded. NYPD and the FBI were in a jurisdictional slap-fight over the matter, Homeland Security was breathing down their neck, and to top it all off SHIELD was sniffing around far too delicately for George’s comfort. Though he supposed if they took the case on in the end, at least he wouldn’t have to ‘try’ and arrest Spider-Man or stop his officers from doing the same.

As George walked, the looks of awe on everyone’s faces when they caught sight of him prickled on his skin. While he had figured the whole ‘battle a giant lizard and stop a biowarfare attack’ thing would get him a lot of clout around the station for a while - most of which he was cashing in on right now - he hadn’t exactly expected the hero worship.

As nice as it sounded in theory, he hoped it would go away, soon.

He waited outside Connors’ cell, rehearsing his little plan for how to get all the important stuff to the man. They were definitely going to be on video, and after the kind of orders George had given last night there was probably an audio feed going, too.

But one didn’t become a police captain in New York City without having a few tricks up their sleeve.

“Captain,” Connors greeted, sitting perched on the edge of his cot when then the door opened.

“Just holler if you need anything, sir,” the guard said, and George nodded when the door closed behind him.

They were as close to alone as they were going to get.

“They really are listening,” George said in light warning, setting the tray down on a little table shutting out of the wall. Connors stared down at it in confusion, knowing full well prisoners don’t get two breakfasts in an NYPD holding cell.

“...I’m sure,” Connors said finally, looking distinctly unsure as George stood leaning against the wall Connors was facing.

“Dig in,” George said. “Try the muffin, it’s not bad for police cafeteria food.”

Connors slowly nodded, seeming to get George was trying to tell him something.

“I take it you came to talk to me? I have a hard time believing it would be a police captain’s job to serve prisoners their meals.”

George nodded, fighting the urge to double check on the recessed camera that would be over his shoulders as he looked pointedly towards the plastic-wrapped muffin.

“I hear you haven’t been talking to anyone,” he said.

“I have nothing to say,” Connors said carefully, moving carefully along the bed, as a nervous prisoner might, towards the meal.

“Not even an explanation for what happened? The NYPD, along with a whole alphabet soup of other agencies, is...rather at a loss to explain this. Considering the size of our city and the history of crimes we’ve dealt with, that’s a very rare thing to happen, Doctor.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Connors said. “But my circumstances were extremely unique.”

Finally, he grabbed the stupid muffin, turning it over in his hands as he pondered it.

And thankfully, he barely paused when he came across the nutrition label - one which had been switched out for a label-look-alike sticky note with a tiny outline of the story he’d cooked up that morning. At least the parts relevant to Connors, anyway.

It wasn’t much. It started with “the truth with Spider-Man edited out”, a note saying Peter Parker visited Connors, and helped him with the serum. And that the Lizard attacked Midtown High to get to Peter, not Spider-Man.

Connors seemed to catch on pretty quickly, as George said, “So there were circumstances involved? We would like to know what those are.”

“They are beyond your reach to handle, Captain.”

“I have the NYPD behind me.”

“I have a much more powerful organization against me.”

“We’ve also got that alphabet soup of agencies I mentioned. FBI, Homeland Security, SHIELD, CDC, a few biological warfare and counter-terrorism units from a few other groups...”

“I hope that it is enough. But I worry that it isn’t.”

“Enough for what?” George asked.

“...I deeply regret everything that happened as a result of my actions,” Connors said finally, setting down the muffin on the tray again. “But I still have no intention of dying.”

“Who said anything about dying? Capital punishment isn’t on the table-”

“I’m not worried about state execution, Captain. I’m worried about an assassination.”

George raised an eyebrow. “From who?”

“...people with friends in high places. Much higher than you or I.”

OsCorps. That had to be it. Norman Osborne was a recluse, but a recluse with a lot of money and connections, and one who was known for bearing down on his scientists, searching for a cure for some mysterious ailment he was suffering.

And his daughter worked for him. Christ.

“Well, I hope you are willing to talk to someone, soon, so we can try to make sure this doesn’t happen again.” He paused. “My daughter looked up to you, you know. You inspired Gwen so much. Your recommendation letter practically made me cry. I don’t think she can use it, now.”

“I know...I’m so sorry,” he said. “Please - pass along my regrets and apologies to her. She was the brightest student I ever had. She will be great, one day, and I pray that my actions don’t hold her back.”

Sounded honest enough.

“They just might,” he said. “She’s might not have enough time to get another reference for her college applications.”

And what the hell, why not go for broke? As much as he could see that there something else going on besides Connors suddenly going power-hungry, that didn’t change everything the man had done, and everything George and Gwen had gone through because of him.

“And it’s not just her - Peter looked up to you, too.”

Connors looked up at him in surprise. “You...” He paused, clearly just as aware of their watchers as George was. “You know Peter?” he asked finally.

“He’s dating my daughter. Can’t say we got along at first, but you know how stubborn Gwen can be.”

Connors smiled, fleeting and fond. “Oh, yes, I’m very aware.”

“I heard he looked up to you,” George continued. “You were a second father-figure to him. Might be the closest to Richard he ever got.”

“...funny,” Connors said, staring off at the far distance through the wall just by George’s shoulder. “I was thinking the same thing about him.”

George sighed. “Look, however high up the hierarchy I go - I’m a cop. I protect the city, and the streets, and that’s all I’m interested in. I prefer justice, but it’s not my main goal. If there are supposedly mystical powers at hand or whatever nonsense you’ve been spouting at everyone, I honestly don’t care. I want to know how to make sure all of this doesn’t happen again - or what to do if it does. It was a miracle no one died, last night, and you know it. Let’s try to keep it that way, hmm?”

Connors looked down at the ground.

“...I appreciate your candor, Captain Stacy. And your...help. And I thank you, sincerely, for stopping the Lizard when I was unable to.”

“I just helped. We both know who really did.”

“...is...is Spider-Man okay?” he asked.

“Presumably,” he said. “I believe he mentioned someone taking care of all the things you did to him.”

“That’s...that’s good.”

Stacy sighed, and wrapped on the cell door three times.

Connors lifted the water-bottle from the tray and said, “Thank you for the food, Captain, but after last night, after everything I’ve done...I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Of course,” George said, lifting up the tray. “I hope you’ll carefully consider everything I just said.”

“I will, Captain. I promise.”

And then George was out, walking down the hallways again, leaving the tray with the prisoner provisions people, though snagging the muffin and making a sly comment about being hungry after last night to wave off any questions pre-emptively.

“Hey, sweetie,” George said as he approached his desk when he was sure his lieutenant was finished getting Gwen’s statement.

“Hi, Dad,” she said.

“Brought you something, in case you were hungry,” he said, dropping the muffin in her lap. “Just in case you didn’t get enough in the rush this morning.”

“Thanks, Dad,” she said. She ‘absentmindedly’ began tearing at the wrapping over the desk, and soon the incriminating label was in shreds, and his officers were all giving him a wide berth as he talked quietly with his daughter.

He didn’t like the whole hero-worship thing, but at least it had its uses.

“Would it be weird of me to ask if he’s okay?” Gwen asked quietly.

“Maybe,” George said. “But he...he is. We were right that something else made him take the serum. He won’t say what, though he’s pretty scared of it.”

“...I know that won’t help anything, much,” Gwen started.

“But it’s good to know that not everything is wrong with your world?” George finished.

“At least I wasn’t wrong about him, who he was...who I looked up to,” she said.

“I know, sweetie,” he said, leaning down to hug her on an impulse. After last night, he felt the constantly need to feel her in his arms and know she was okay. “I know just what it’s like to be proven so wrong.”

She stifled a laugh in his shoulder and hugged him back.

~*~

When Aunt May had woken Peter up at noon, her eyes were red and puffy, but also dry. They remained dry even when she stared desolately at the knives and needles and sandpaper he carried into the bathroom, and the lighter.

First he checked on his leg, replacing the sterile pads and rewrapping the bandages around his thigh, trying on three pairs of pants to see in which one it was least visible. He settled on some slightly over-large boxers that covered the bandaged wound even pantsless, and some thick jeans over it. Then came the hard part.

He sincerely hoped Aunt May was well away from the bathroom as he worked. Even when he’d ended up having to resort to stuffing a balled-up corner of a handtowel in his mouth and wrapping the rest around his throat, he still couldn’t muffle the pained whimpers and gasps as he slowly butchered himself and made it look like he’d just come out of that horrific battle all over again.

But despite all his attempts to make sure he could take care of all this by himself, he couldn’t. There were only so many parts of his back he could reach before-

“Aunt May?”

It took a sincere amount of effort to make poking his head out the door look effortless as he waited for her to come to the door.

“I...I need your help. With some of the stuff I can’t reach.”

She stared as she realized what he was asking her.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t apologize!” she said.

Peter closed his eyes and stepped back, opening the door fully. He was wearing a baggy shirt, planning to just pull it up over his back so Aunt May wouldn’t have to see anything else as she took care of the few wounds he needed help with.

But when she stepped in, she sharply tugged it off, and for a few moments stared at him, and Peter wrapped his arms around himself as best as he could, oddly self-conscious about it all, now.

She was crying, now, silent tears trailing down her cheeks. She took the knife in shaking hands which steadied after a few deep breaths, and followed Peter’s clinical instructions. But no matter how much distance Peter tried to create, there was no getting around the fact she was cutting him open in their bathroom to perpetuate a lie to the police.

“I’m so sorry,” he mumbled again.

“No more apologizing, Peter, not about this.”

He nodded absently, and turned to let her get a good look at his front and his arms.

It ended up being a boon, him needing to ask her for help, because with her eye for detail she was able to add in a few of her own, what to scrape at just the right angle or which hurts to leave alone for maximum effect. Pter could see how much it hurt her, having to do this, but he was eternally grateful that she did.

She also helped him wrap up all the wounds after disinfecting them, and said, “Tell me what your plans for the police, are. What I should say, in case they ask me any questions.”

Peter told her - most of which was the truth on her part, minus the Spider-Man part at the end - and she cried again and helped him again, but eventually cleaned up the bathroom and helped him get dressed, and made them both some coffee to get through the day, after making him take another illicit painkiller.

They were just settling down when there came a knock at the door, and with a kiss on his forehead, she went and answered.

A moment later, two police officers came in.

“Peter Parker?” one of them asked. Both of them were eying the bruises and scrapes on his face.

“That’s me,” Peter said quietly, sounding a little hoarse. Oh, god, he was really going to do this, all of this.

“We have some questions we would like to ask you,” the older-looking one between the two said.

“Is this about the Lizard?” Peter asked. “And Doctor Connors?”

“Yes - you came to the station a few weeks ago to warn us about him.”

“And I was right,” Peter said. “I had a run-in with him, yesterday. I told you guys-”

“We know,” the other one said. “And we’d like for you to tell us again. Everything. And we’d like you to come with us to the precinct to do it.”

Peter looked at Aunt May.

“Let me grab our coats,” she said finally.

Half an hour later, he was sitting in a police office, waiting as some interviewer finished setting up a recorder, and put a notebook down in front of him. She dictated the details of the interview, then said to Peter, “Okay, kid - you’re up.”

Peter coughed and said calmly, “Where would you like me to begin?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'd been meaning to post this to AO3 for a while, I figured my birthday was as good a day as any to finally get around to it. :)


End file.
